


Painful Memories

by Thatkindoffangirl



Series: Metal Gear Solid POV challenge [2]
Category: Metal Gear
Genre: Breathplay, Choking, M/M, Minor Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-22
Updated: 2014-06-22
Packaged: 2018-02-05 16:19:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1824655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thatkindoffangirl/pseuds/Thatkindoffangirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Her, of course — he pushes his hands on John’s wrist, lifts himself up with all his strength to breathe again; his head clears a little — John’s almighty mentor. The Boss. Has he talked about her? — he blinks fast; stars form in front of his eyes — Even the simple mention of her name is enough to set John off nowadays."</p>
<p>---</p>
<p>Written for the POV challenge. Prompt is Bosselot/breathplay/Ocelot's POV.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Painful Memories

**Author's Note:**

> This was turned into a podfic thanks to bennylucerenna: http://www.mediafire.com/listen/h8lhiqv2zshep8a/JILH.mp3  
> \---  
> Also the gorgeous fanart by moksutinn: http://moksutinn.tumblr.com/post/89673413061/this-fic-inspired-me-to-draw-a-scene-from-it

John’s hand is strong. His whole body is — it has been for a while — but it’s only now, as John’s hand pins his neck to the wall, lifts him so high that his feet don’t even brush against the ground, that the realization fully dawns on Ocelot: that the man holding him up is once again stronger than he his; that his hand can crush his throat, if he wants to; that he will never dare and that, far from making him happy, the thought leaves a void in his chest. He feels sick.

He tries to worm his fingers inside John’s fist, to loosen his hold, but it takes him only one try to know that it’s useless. John’s fingers are stuck in place like cement, not letting him go unless he decides to. Ocelot hopes that he never will. There is blood pooling in his head, throbbing, forced there by John’s hold. He’d love to convince himself that it’s just that — that his brain is muddled and that the lack of air is messing with his desires, that he is not twenty years old again, lying on the ground with the hint of an erection in his pants, this same men looking over him after beating him down. But there is no denying that, if he has any blood left in the lower part of his body, that blood is now all pushing in his dick, making him as hard as he can’t remember having been in a while.

“Don’t you dare speak her name,” John says, and Ocelot doesn’t know what he’s talking about.

Then he remembers.  _Her_ , of course — he pushes his hands on John’s wrist, lifts himself up with all his strength to breathe again; his head clears a little — John’s almighty mentor. The Boss. Has he talked about her? — he blinks fast; stars form in front of his eyes — Even the simple mention of her name is enough to set John off nowadays. He knows that. What was he thinking? There has to be a plan, a second, more subtle intent. There always is with him — he moves his legs forward, trying to hinge himself on John’s, to lift himself up again, but John is standing too far — He can’t remember. God, he has been so stupid. He is stillbeing stupid, his fucking cock leaking against his pants as John is, for all he knows, set on the intent of making him pay with his life.

“You won’t ever mention her again,” John straightens him further up; Ocelot’s cock jolts. “Do you understand me?”

Ocelot whimpers. He opens his mouth, but there are no words. His lips throb, shake, everything is numb. Legs are becoming harder to move, hands so limp he isn’t sure he has them anymore. His chest is burning. John’s face swings in and out of focus; his gaze pierces him. His eye is so deep, blue, burning with such anger and pain that Ocelot wants nothing but to — it’s not the time, he forces himself to remember. He spreads his legs, feeling along the wall, searching for a place to hold himself up to breathe at least once again, at least enough to answer.

“Do you understand me?” John repeats. He marks every word.

Ocelot feels John’s leg moving back, his body preparing to strike. He knows what’s coming, he knows it’s going to hurt. He doesn’t care. He could try to close his legs, make it harder for John to hit his crotch. He doesn’t. He bites his lips, closing his eyes to brace for the impact. The air moves as John’s knee dashes forward, and then —

Nothing.

The hit never comes. John’s leg is stuck between his, his knee planted in the wall behind him. He hasn’t even touched him, and Ocelot feels stupid again. He doesn’t open his eyes, and maybe it’s that or maybe it’s seeing him so flustered — even he must have noticed — that gets John to release him. Ocelot’s face his burning as he slides down the wall, unable to keep himself steady on his shaking legs. There is sweat in his hair and his lungs are filling again with oxygen but he almost doesn’t notice. His head is still spinning, his cheeks burning with humiliation.

“Do you understand me?” John says again, and this time his voice is a bit softer.

He leaves when Ocelot nods, and among Ocelot’s fighting emotions there is the burning sting of gratitude. For all the time he has spent with John, for all the fighting, and the teasing, and the intimacy, he still isn’t ready to show him cum leaking all over his pants.

**Author's Note:**

> As this is part of a challenge to improve my writing abilities, comments are encouraged :)


End file.
